


You Can't Blame Gravity

by not_mom



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Intended as Lucavi but more pre-slash, Lucavi, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, TAZ Balance, The Adventure Zone: Balance, modern-ish AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_mom/pseuds/not_mom
Summary: Avi is a spy. Lucas is an analyst who didn't sign up for this shit.





	You Can't Blame Gravity

“You’re the fucking worst.” 

Avi blinks once, twice, battling the sensation that there are weights attached to his eyelids to squint up at whoever decided that waking him up with an insult was a good idea. Lucas Miller is hunched over him, face pinched in something that looks like distaste. The analyst’s shirt is rumpled, and he’s got dark circles etched beneath his eyes, and it seems like he hasn’t shaved in days. 

“Seriously, as fake husbands go, you _suck_.” Lucas shifts from his chair and settles on the edge of the bed, getting stuck for a minute fumbling the bed railing down to do so. The mattress dips under his weight, and to keep his balance Lucas sets a hand down- his wrist is encased in a bright pink cast. Avi stares for longer than he maybe needs to, considering it’s just plaster, but the cheery color is out of place. “Oh, I’m Avi, I’m a field agent, I’m so tough and cool, let’s tail the guy we’re supposed to be watching and observing and gathering data on from afar, that’s not suspicious at all.” He’s gesticulating with his good hand, but his voice stays at a furious whisper even as his cheeks and neck get blotchy red in the way they do when he’s worked up. “The arms dealer definitely doesn’t have bodyguards who’ll t-bone us at an intersection to get us off his tail!” 

“We got t-boned?” Avi’s almost surprised by how rough his voice sounds. That certainly fits with what he remembers, even though a flare of headlights leading into a concussive explosion that threw him sideways towards Lucas could have been a lot of things. Being hit like that tracks. “You broke your wrist?” 

“Yes and yes and I signed with our cover names, so the hospital has us on file as Mr. and Mr. Mortalis. You’re Rosco and I’m Chance.” 

“Who picked the fake names again?”

“Brad.” Lucas shrugs dismissively as he uses his good hand to fumble with something in his pocket, forehead drawn in a frown. 

“Remind me, what did we do to make him mad?”

“Nothing. He thinks those are reasonable normal people names. Just- shut up and let me-” Lucas breaks off at a knock on the door, looking guilty, and in an instant is scrambling to lie down. It’s haphazard and awkward and when Avi tries to ask what the fuck is going on Lucas shushes him. They end up with the analyst’s elbow in his ribs and his glasses pressing into his cheek, Lucas close enough that he can see the light freckles dusted across his cheekbones. The other man is turned towards him, still frowning as he works the mystery item out of his pocket (even though that hip is pressed into the mattress), and Avi realizes he can see Lucas’ eyelashes brushing into the smudged lenses of his glasses.

Avi is just thinking about how to request some fucking clarification when a nurse clears her throat. Lucas stares hard at him as he makes a soft shushing sound, apparently trying to impress the importance of the request, then flops his head over to look up at the nurse. Avi feels, rather than sees, Lucas tense next to him, and as he rolls out of bed his voice goes stilted and awkward as he apologizes and asks if there’s any news and belatedly introduces himself as “the husband.” Lucas Miller is a shitty actor. But, then again, being a nervous nerd is hardly a stretch for him. The nurse seems to be buying it. She’s a half-elf and has clearly been here for too many hours already, hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail and pockets lumpy with what must be the buildup of a shift’s worth of detritus. As Lucas asks questions she answers with a sort of tired resignation, occasionally consulting the chart on her clipboard to do so, apparently used to concerned family members. 

“So, I’m good to go?” Avi interrupts with a smile once he’s managed to sit up, the process more painful than it had any right to be thanks to what he can only assume are broken ribs. As the pain fades, he lets the hand on his ribs drop to the bed and his fingers brush metal. 

“Just one last shot.” The nurse nods, double-checks something on her clipboard, and tucks it under her arm to rummage through her pockets. Avi sees Lucas shift nervously, sees his left hand curl into a fist, and on instinct he looks to the door. It’s closed. Slowly, he slides his hand forward, and his fingers close around something that seems to have a point at one end and sloping sides. He knows this, it’s a- a brooch, one of the million things Lucas is always tinkering away at in the lab, probably enchanted to do something. The tiny shield is cold in his hand, and his ‘wedding’ ring clicks against it as Avi turns it over.

She beats both of them to the punch: from the pocket of her scrubs comes a slim wand of pale wood, blue metal flaring from the end where she’s holding it. Eight glowing blue darts burst from its tip and divide up: half of them drive into Lucas’ chest, tossing him back into the wall as if he’s a doll. The collision is audible, drawing a yelp of pain. The other half of the darts come for him, and he reacts the only way he can think to. Avi flings the shield pin at her and barks the command word. (Lucas’ stuff always has the same command word: “Science!”) Shimmering pink magic envelops it, then resolves into a full-sized shield just in time to catch the darts. 

Avi is struggling to his feet before the would-be killer realizes he’s blocked her attack. He sways dangerously but lurches forwards, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the screaming pain in his ribs to grab her arm and yank. Hard. The wand’s got to be nearly out of charges, so he doesn’t want her going for something else. A knife, maybe. Or another magic item, something worse. Disintegrate is nasty. So’s Circle of Death. So, desperate to head off something worse than magic missile, he throws his weight against her and they go down, the killer catching herself on one knee. 

So locked on what he’s doing, Avi doesn’t see Lucas pick himself up from the ground until the analyst yells “science!” and throws a punch. Lightning sparks from his ‘wedding band’ when he makes contact with the corner of her jaw and it’s that- not the force of the hit- that snaps her head around and sees her crumpling to the ground. 

Well, fuck. Avi wrenches the wand from her now limp grip and clambers to his feet, pocketing it for later. “He’s still trying to kill us.” It’s an effortless conclusion to come to, and he’s pretty sure he only beat Lucas to verbalizing it because the analyst still looks shocked (pardon the pun) to realize that he actually managed to get the assassin down. “Come on, up.” He doesn’t offer a hand, turning to limp to the cabinet on the side of the room to retrieve his clothes. 

“You’re going to get us- ugh!” Avi’s shirt is half-buttoned by the time Lucas gets to his feet, pale and stuttering. “We’re done. He knows our faces, we might be blown, we need to- we’re done. I’m calling Killian.” His hands are trembling so badly that he drops his phone. Avi watches with a weird fondness as Lucas swears and picks it back up. For all the analyst is a nerd, for all his defensiveness and unconventional experiments and habit of insulting field agents to their face, he’s a good man to have on your side. And he quite likes having Lucas on his side. 

“He just knows we’re nosy,” he points out amiably, his words turning into a soft hiss of pain as he bends over to step into his pants. “For all he knows, we’re journalists, or work for who he was selling to, or-”

“Or feds!” Lucas looks over, finger hovering over his screen like he’s poised to make the call, then chokes on his own spit and averts his gaze. It takes Avi a beat to realize it’s probably because he’s technically not really wearing pants yet. Lucas continues once he seems to remember how to breathe, staring at a fixed spot on the wall like it has the answers they need. “I can’t believe she made me come out here with you, this is insane. Someone just tried to kill us.” 

“Welcome to fieldwork!” Now properly clothed, Avi shoots him a grin that Lucas doesn’t see. Because he’s staring at the damn wall. “I’ll lock her in the bathroom, you arrange a pickup, okay?” When no response comes, he pauses in gathering his hair back into a ponytail. “Lucas. Take a breath. We’ll be fine. Sending someone after her would be overkill, so as long as we move now, we’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Lucas sounds like he doesn’t believe him, but he steels himself and taps the screen. It connects instantly, and as he explains things rapid-fire, Avi turns his attention to the assassin. She’s breathing shallowly, limp. Pulling her into the bathroom leaves his ribs aching and his breath short: Avi knows he’s pushing it, but at this point there’s no other choice. He disarms her of a knife and takes her shoes: she won’t get far barefoot in a hospital. It’s not a perfect solution, of course, but they can’t very well get the police involved. 

An hour later, they’re pulling into the airport. With the adrenaline high long gone, Avi aches all over. Lucas is mute beside him, staring out the window as the arrivals wing rolls into view. “Are you going to throw me under the bus when we get back?” The question surprises him; he’d been planning to ask if Lucas where he wanted to sit.

“She’s going to yell at you _so much_.” Lucas doesn't look over, but his irritation from the hospital room is long gone. He just sounds tired now. 

“She doesn’t yell.” Avi stretches, gearing up to get out as the car comes to a stop. 

“Then _I’ll_ yell. Tomorrow.” It's an empty threat and they both know it.

“Okay. Do you want the aisle seat?” Avi makes the executive decision to not push the issue and instead pushes the door open. He hears Lucas snort- the sound draws a small smile, because he knows that it means Lucas has given up trying to be grumpy. 

“Please.” Lucas climbs out of the car, and is indeed smiling as he shuts the door. 

“Cool.” As the taxi pulls away, leaving them on the curb, Avi offers a hand. “Ready to go home, favorite husband?” 

“You’re the _worst_.” Lucas takes his hand anyways, leaning into his side. "I'm glad you didn't get us killed." 

"I love you too." Avi grins, and even though he wants to lean over and kiss Lucas on the temple, it's not the time or place. Lucas blinks in surprise, then snorts, then laughs aloud. And he'd hate to interrupt the way Lucas' face lights up when he laughs. He looks years younger, the stress of the past weeks dropping away. 

But of course, he's still Lucas, so even though he doesn't pull away, he rolls his eyes. "I want a divorce."

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the WDA fic exchange! Micah, I hope I've done your boys justice. You're an incredible writer and friend, happy Candlenights!
> 
> Fun fact: I stole their fake names from my friend Hero's dogs! (Rosco is a Saint Bernard and Chance is a German Shepherd, they're big 'ol sweeties.)  
> Yes this is a nebulous sort of secret agent modern but magical AU, it's a good time. Don't worry too much about the specifics. Title was taken from an Albert Einsten misquote- "You can't blame gravity for falling in love."


End file.
